The Mistakes of a Merchant
Francesco lay almost lifeless on the floor of his cell, his chest pressing hard against the cold, unforgiving stone. His eyes lay wide open, yet they gazed at nothing, almost as if they were not connected to his mind. He lay there, silently praying for a miracle he knew would never come, yet hoped would. Death lurked around the corner, waiting for him, the Devil next to him, waiting to take Francesco to his torture pits.
A long, single ray of light shone into the cell, through the crudely constructed window, providing Francesco with his only warmth, yet this tiny speckle of warmth did nothing but magnify the coldness. He could still almost touch the gold in his hand, almost smell the sheer delight of him and his co-conspirators. He could still remember that feeling, that thought that nothing could be better.
How wrong they were. How wrong they were to doubt the Republic, to doubt its ability to track down frauds. How wrong they were to think that they could live in the extravagance reserved for kings, how wrong they were to let their greed and lust for power take over. They hoped they had covered their tracks, hid their profits to escape the taxes.
But the council always found out. A co-conspirator would sell out or a poor beggar would over hear and earn himself a nice pile of cash. To Francesco, it mattered little how they found out, all that he knew was that they had and that was that.
And so, Francesco lay on the cold, damp floor of his prison cell, the knowledge that his fate was sealed imprinted firmly in his brain. His wife would weep, his children even more so, his friends would shout and yell, yet nothing could change his fate. In his pursuit of wealth and money, he had fallen at the last gauntlet, failed the last test. He swore he had got the numbers right, he was sure the bribes had all been paid. It was his punishment though, it was his punishment for relying on the qualities of men who had been so easily bribed in the first place. Men, who had surely been the first target for the authorities.
In retrospect, he had lived a good life, albeit cut too short. His one and only wish was that it would be quick, painless and hopefully bloodless, more so for his family than for himself. He had never meant to involve them, yet he had, and they would pay the price of his greed. He may of been the one who was facing death, yet it would be them who would feel the greater impact. He would be remembered as the greedy merchant, the man who had ruined his family, ruined his reputation. It could be worse.